


Vigil

by deleiterious



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety, Blood and Gore, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Study, Death, F/M, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Romantic Friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-07
Updated: 2020-06-07
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:01:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24595684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deleiterious/pseuds/deleiterious
Summary: Raphael and Bernadetta fall off a cliff, together.And Bernadetta tries to keep him alive.--Raphael x Bernadetta. If you look closely.
Relationships: Raphael Kirsten & Ignatz Victor, Raphael Kirsten/Bernadetta von Varley
Comments: 20
Kudos: 28





	Vigil

The air is thick with the rancid scent of gore, steel, and death. Bernadetta loosens another arrow, and it strikes true. The cavalier falls from their horse, an arrow embedded in their chest. It's a killing blow. The horse bolts, crushing the lifeless body beneath its rampaging hooves as it flees. Bernadetta feels a tremor go through her as she pulls another arrow out of her quiver, swallowing a hot, horrible ball of bile in her throat. 

  
There is a piercing scream that rends the blistering discord of battle. A soldier in Marianne's contingent is blown off their pegasus, crashing to the ground like a stringless puppet to the earth. With a soundless cry, Marianne leaps off her horse, her hands glowing with a powerful healing spell. Raphael, the ally most adjacent to her position, fills the gap in their defenses with his battalion. Bernadetta moves her own as well, hoping to provide enough cover to their healer to save that soldier's life. She positions herself behind a thicket of shrubs as her knights spread out. Pebbles crunch beneath her boots, skittering down the nearby cliff side.

  
Bernadetta pulls back the bowstring and shoots the mage aiming a black magic spell at Marianne's retreating back. Her broadhead arrow punctures clean through their throat, spraying blood across the charred grass. Before the body tips to the ground, Bernadetta's attention jerks to the flash of silver in her peripheral vision. 

  
An assassin bursts out of the brush, the twin tails of their dark mantle flaring in the wind. Bernadetta's mouth opens in a gasp, but she knows that it is already too late to do anything but brace for the blow. Before she can bring her shield up, Raphael is there, right in front of her.

  
The gleaming blade sinks itself deep into his flesh, carving an arc of crimson into the air. Bernadetta screams but nothing leaves her throat. Raphael sways dangerously in front of her, clutching one hand to his abdomen as blood spills like red rivers across his fingers.

  
"Raphael!" she cries in horror as the assassin coils their arm for another strike. Bernadetta doesn't know swords, not like the Professor does, but she knows enough. The next strike will kill Raphael.

  
He must know that too, because he staggers back to avoid the blow. Bernadetta's arm reaches out, grasping at air, but Raphael lurches too far and knocks into her with all his weight. Her boots scramble for purchase against the loose rock, skidding against gravel before the ground gives way completely under her.

  
Bernadetta's mouth opens in a scream, and she clings desperately for something hold onto. 

  
"Bernadetta!"

  
Her free hand clutches blindly at Raphael's arm, but she realizes moments later, that it's a mistake that will cost them both. He tumbles off the cliff after her, and they both go into free fall.

* * *

  
Bernadetta awakens to the sensation of moisture on the side of her face. Her eyelids flicker open, gray eyes gingerly taking in her surroundings. A light, misty rain is coming down from the sky. She is covered in a small pile of rubble; one of her legs is pinned beneath a large, jagged stone. She tries to move her leg, but cries out in agony when she does. The stone moves, but her breathing becomes ragged with fear and pain. She lifts herself into sitting position with effort, and gasping, shoves the stone keeping her trapped. Bernadetta bites back a scream as it rolls off. Her calf is blackened in bruises and she is bleeding freely from fresh cuts, but it does not feel broken, which floods her with relief.

  
She blinks up at the sky through the rain, eyes tracing the sheer size of the bluff. Some part of her is shocked that she is not dead from a drop like that. She fumbles for her bow, which is battered, but still intact and struggles to her feet. She suddenly remembers she did not fall alone.

  
_Wait. Raphael! Where is he?_

  
Bernadetta's eyes search the area. She has fallen between a copse of trees and a small cave. A few meters away, near the lip of the cave, she spots him. Raphael is sprawled on his back, unmoving and unconscious. There is a dark pool of blood beneath his body. Bernadettta feels her heart drop out of her stomach. He could be dead, and it would be _all her fault_.

  
She barely feels her leg as she hobbles over to his prone form. "Raphael?" she rasps as she reaches him, crumpling to her knees. There is no response, and she claps a hand to her mouth when she sees how truly pale and ashen his face is. Bernadetta can feel her heartbeat as if it has been stuffed into her ears, pounding with a desperate fervor. Her shaking hands hover over his face before she finally presses her fingers against his carotid artery. Her fingers shake so hard she clutches it back to her chest, trying to steady them before she tries again. 

  
_He could be dead._

  
That's all that she can think right now. Raphael could have killed himself saving her. When Bernadetta's ears start ringing, she knows she is dangerously close to a panic attack. She closes her eyes, screwing them shut hard, curling her hands in her lap. She breathes, trying to keep it at bay. She cannot let this happen _now._

  
_If_ he is alive, she is the only person who can help him. 

  
Bernadetta takes a deep breath, willing the feeling back into her hands. Her jaw is clenched so hard she feels like she could break her own teeth, but she opens her eyes, and tries her damnedest to stay present as her fingers reach for his pulse. 

  
_He's alive._

  
Bernadetta feels her shoulders shake with relief, the breath she did not know she had been holding in ghosting into the rain. She looks up into the sky again, searching for any sign of their comrades, but there is no one. 

  
"O-okay, Raphael. It's going to be just you and me for a little bit," she whispers, hoping the sound of her voice can make her feel a little less terrified, a little less lonely. Judging from the rumble of thunder, she needs to get them both out of the rain and under some shelter, and quickly. He may be alive now, but it may not be for long.

  
Bernadetta is soaked to the bone by the time she gets him safely into the cave. Part of it could be sweat and blood, but she tries not to linger on those thoughts. Shuddering from the cold, she hurriedly collects the branches and twigs surrounding them, likely blown in from the wind. She intends to make a fire out of the kindling. Bernadetta instinctively reaches into her quiver to pull out an arrow to use its head as flint, but her fingers close over nothing. She jerks back, yanking the quiver off her belt to take a better look. A single arrow pokes out from the case. 

  
She buries her dismay, repeating the Professor's lessons to herself as she lights a fire. She focuses on the mantra that keeps her hopes alive. _Shelter and survive. Rescue is not far behind._ She knows the Professor will be searching for them, but it is unlikely they will be found before the storm lets up.

  
"T-that should warm us up, R-Raphael." She offers him a wan smile, but again, there is no response. Bernadetta yanks off her sodden clothes and shoes, laying them out near the fire to dry, leaving nothing but her thin shift on. She braces herself and, with a deep breath, goes over to Raphael to tend to his wound. She removes the armor with some effort, unclipping a myriad of buckles. At one point, she has to saw at the leather strip with the tip of her arrow to fully remove his breastplate. It falls unceremoniously from her hands when she sees the shirt underneath. It is completely soaked in his own blood. She can barely tell where the wound begins and where it ends. 

  
"Raphael, why...why would you--" Bernadetta claps a hand to her mouth to hold back a sob, tears welling in her eyes. 

  
_Look what you've done, Bernie. Useless, stupid girl. He'll die because of you. All your friends die because of you._

  
Bernadetta trembles, breathing in the sharp tang of blood while she tries to anchor herself. "He's still alive," she repeats under her breath. "He's still alive."

  
She slices through the ruined material easily, fingertips dying red as she pulls it open to examine the wound more closely. A shocked, wet gasp escapes her lips, and her stomach turns at the sight. It's worse than she thought. The blade cut clean through his side. She can see his ribs. 

  
_W-what do I do?_

  
Bernadetta has always been useless at magic. She always knew she was useless before, but this--kneeling by a dying friend's body, unable to _do_ anything--this is what true uselessness must feel like. She wishes she could have stayed home. She wishes she'd never come to Garreg Mach, or been embroiled in this horrible, pointless war. But she is here now, and she has to face the fact that she cannot heal Raphael, who is clearly at death's door.

  
 _What would you do, Professor?_ She feels tears threatening to spill down her face. _I'm terrified. I need help. I can't do this by myself._ She stares down at the floor, and catches sight of the burgundy pouch strapped to her thigh. With a jolt, she snaps it open, and half-filled vial of concoction rests at the bottom of the pouch, next to a spool of purple thread and a spare sewing needle. 

  
Bernadetta does not hesitate, popping the cork of the vial while she tips Raphael's chin up. She needs him to drink it. Imbued with healing magic, the remainder of her concoction is his best chance. Bernadetta gently parts Raphael's chapped lips and pours it all into his open mouth. Instantly, the glow of ambient white magic appears around the wound. Torn tissue knits together around his ribs, but it is not enough. The wound remains open, the damage too great for her meager dose of concoction. He releases a soft groan, eyelids fluttering with great effort.

  
"Raphael!" she exclaims. A dim flame of hope burns in her chest. "C-can you hear me?" 

  
He does not respond. Bernadetta brings her fingers to his neck. His pulse is stronger now, although its strength still is far from reassuring. Bernadetta sets her jaw in determination. 

  
_No matter, I have a needle and thread. It's all I can do. I only hope it will be enough._

  
She hurries to get supplies in order. She drags her battered leg behind her as she rushes to wash Raphael's curved, bloodied pauldron outside in the heavy rain. When the water inside it runs clear, she sets the makeshift bowl down beside him and grabs her Varley-mauve tunic, scrubbing it raw in the downpour. She dips her tunic into the pauldron and delicately cleans the open gash in Raphael's side. His chest is pale, as bloodlessly white as his face. When she can see the borders of his wound clearly, Bernadetta knows she can delay it no longer. 

  
She plucks the needle from her pouch. It glimmers silver, lit by dancing embers behind her. Bernadetta tries not to flinch as she holds the needle over the rolling flames. The sheer heat feels like it is tearing right through her skin, and it hurts. She refuses to let go, letting the needle glow white-hot before she yanks her hand back. She has likely burned herself, but she does not dwell on it. Bernadetta threads the needle with practiced ease.

  
"Raphael," she starts, but falters, unable to drum up anything comforting. "I'm...sorry." Bernadetta gently places one of the cut leather strips between his teeth. She tries not to think of it as skin and flesh as she begins to sew him up. The moment she starts, Raphael's body writhes and clenched teeth dig fruitlessly into unyielding leather.

  
She knows she cannot stop, cannot slow down. Bernadetta starts to hum, hoping to distract them both. She hums the song he always seeks her out for, the one he likes to listen to so much. Her stitches are neat, tidy, and precise; nevertheless, Raphael's hands curl into fists. She hums louder, forcing the sound out through her tight throat, pulling the fine point through war-torn skin. Blood wells from every puncture, saturating her purple thread. Bernadetta feels sick to her core, bile eddying up and down her throat as she feels his muscles tense beneath her blood-soaked fingers. She wants to vomit, at the smell, at the sight, at the feeling of her ministrations. All she can hear are his moans and, beyond the cave, the roar of the wind and rain.

  
_Useless, cowardly girl--_

  
Raphael grits out something that sounds like her name, his eyes flickering open. The gold of his irises are clouded behind a haze of pain and confusion. She almost stops; she almost brings her bloodstained hands to his cheek to comfort him.

  
She needs to finish this work. 

  
"I'm here," she says instead. Too quietly, she realizes. Then, louder: "I'm here, Raphael."

  
He tries to utter something; she begins the final stitch and the words twist into a whimper. 

  
"I'm done," she replies quickly, breathlessly. "I'm done, and it's okay." She drops the needle to the cave floor, pressing her forehead against his. It burns with fever. She quietly removes the leather strip, setting it down against his unworn armor.

  
Raphael sags with relief. Bernadetta gets back to her feet with a wince, picking up the pauldron with her soiled hands to wash. When she returns, she brings the makeshift bowl to Raphael's colorless lips. "Please, drink some water."

  
Raphael blinks up at her in a daze, but obediently lets her tip the rain water into his mouth. She gives him a weak smile, swiping at her traitorously wet eyes.

  
"Why you crying?" he croaks.

  
Bernadetta jerks her head away, flushing with mortification. 

  
_Leave it to Raphael to care more about me than himself, even at a time like this._

  
"I'm..." She thinks about lying, but cannot go through with it. "I'm just happy you're awake."

  
Raphael tries to smile, but it is strained, like a bowstring pulled too taut. "Hey, would take more than that to keep me down."

  
Bernadetta shakes her head in obvious disagreement, but says nothing. She continues to encourage him to drink, and he does. She is not sure what else to do about his fever, or about the rest of it. She tears off a sleeve of a her tunic, dampens it in water, and places it across his forehead. When she does, his entire body shudders.

  
"Are you okay?" she asks, her cheeks draining of color. 

  
Raphael closes his burning eyelids. "Just cold."

  
"Cold?" The fire is still roaring behind them, its radiant heat enough to make Bernadetta's back sweat. Bernadetta does not have anything but her torn and ruined clothing to put on him. She scoots close to him, a look of worry passing over her face.

  
"That's better," he sighs, the corner of his lips turned up.

  
Bernadetta startles. Then, with understanding, she sidles up closer to him, pressing her small form against his. His head turns to face her as she does, and she brushes his blond locks off his forehead, feeling at once both daring and contrite. Looking at his guileless, tender face, she can't believe she had ever been afraid of him. Raphael falls into a feverish, restless slumber.

  
She is not sure if it is the right thing to do, but it _feels_ right, so she slips her hand into his and squeezes. Bernadetta stays up as long as she can, tending to the fire and monitoring his condition. 

  
Finally, exhaustion bids her to sleep. 

* * *

  
Bernadetta awakens with a start, sucking in a sharp breath. Her eyelashes brush against Raphael's cheek as she opens her eyes. Bernadetta strains her ears for the sound of the storm. Her ears are met with an aria of morning songbirds. 

  
Bernadetta rises, the entirety of her right side aching from lying against the packed dirt of the cave floor. Looking out past the mouth of the cave, her eyes confirm what her ears hear. The storm is over; still, the sky remains overcast with thick smear of clouds.

  
Bernadetta casts a look over her shoulder. The fire has burned itself out, leaving nothing but a pile of smoky ashes. She presses her forehead against Raphael's. This close, she can feel his shallow breaths skimming across her face. His fever has not broken. Bernadetta wets the rag and sets it across his forehead again. In his sleep, Raphael grimaces.

  
She hastens into some of her ruined attire. Bernadetta clips her quiver to her belt and picks up her bow. She uses her arrow to carve a brief message for him in the dirt.

  
_'Going for help. Be back soon.'_

  
First, she returns to the site of her fall, searching in the debris for any signs of her lost arrows. She spots a gleam of metal beneath a boulder. It is too large for her to move alone. Bernadetta's leg aches with every step as she limps past the canopy of trees. She trains her eyes on the sky, searching for airborne riders flying the Crest of Flames banner. It is unlikely they will send out a search party by foot or by horse, not after this kind of weather. 

  
Worry gnaws at her. Thinking of Raphael's condition, she decides to head back. 

  
Behind her, as if carried on the wind from a great distance, she hears the beating of large wings. Bernadetta swings her head back. Her eyes dart toward the noise, heart hammering apprehensively against her rib cage. 

  
_There! The Crest of Flames!_

  
In the distance, a pair of pegasus riders race toward the cliff from the east. 

  
"Here!" Bernadetta shouts at the top of her lungs, waving her arms. Her voice cracks from relief. "Here!"

  
They continue to fly, too far up in the air and too far from her location, to notice her. 

  
" _Please_!" Bernadetta screams, as loud as she can possibly manage, waving her arms until they feel like they may fall off. "Help! We're here!"

  
A pit of dread settles in her stomach as the fliers drift to another route without even glancing her way. Her location is too obscured by the treeline, but she cannot move fast enough into open space to get their attention. 

  
_This can't be it. This can't!_

  
Bernadetta's lips tighten into a thin line. She nocks her last remaining arrow. Her eyes sharpen with focus, her breath steady. Bernadetta is not a lot of things, but there is one thing she is: an archer.

  
_For Raphael._

  
Bernadetta fires the arrow at her airborne target. Even from this distance, she has no doubts of her aim. She has doomed scores of fliers to their deaths with this very skill. The Professor has her in this war precisely because of it. It is not difficult to recall the high shriek of downed wyverns, her broadheads ripping through their beating wings like a knife through silk. 

  
Her arrow whistles through the air, clipping a single pristine, white feather off of an unsuspecting pegasus and narrowly missing its rider by a hand-span. Terrified, the creature bucks and the rider abroad its back hastens to get it under control. Both of the riders turn in her direction. She cannot see their expressions, but she does not need to.

  
They see her.

  
Bernadetta lowers her bow.

  
_We are saved._

* * *

  
When Raphael comes to, his body feels like it has been dragged through a pile of bricks. That is putting it lightly. Every muscle is in his body throbs, sore and tender. The side of his chest in particular itches fiercely, as though a trail of fire ants are eating through his skin. Straining his neck, he glances about the room. He recognizes this place as the infirmary, although it is surprisingly quiet and empty. 

  
Bernadetta sits next to him, her sleeping head resting atop crossed arms on his bed. Her glossy dark hair splays out against the infirmary sheets, like a bright pop of color on canvas. Her petite hand rests on top of his; against his hand, hers looks like a child's. His eyes soften at the sight. He does not remember much. He remembers an assassin and a fall. He remembers pain, and a voice.

  
_Bernadetta's voice, singing or...something..._

  
Raphael winces as he tries to sit up. Bernadetta shoots up like a wild hare caught in trap, her gray eyes wide in alarm. 

  
"Who--oh!" Bernadetta's mouth drops open upon seeing him. "Raphael?" Her voice is brimming with emotion, and Raphael gets the impression she may cry on him.

  
"Y-you're awake!" 

  
"Of course, I'm awake!" he blusters, cracking into a wide grin. To his surprise, Bernadetta throws her arms around him. Raphael stiffens in her embrace. 

  
Bernadetta has never hugged him before. In fact, he cannot remember a time when Bernadetta has hugged _anyone_. Raphael's arm wraps around her, returning the gesture. She smells like honey and berries. It is such a pleasant scent that he does not even think of letting go. As if remembering herself, she squeaks and jumps back. 

  
They both stare at each other for a beat.

  
"I...should go, um," she says, looking panicked, "tell the Professor and Ignatz you're awake. They've been w-worried sick about you."

  
"Wait!"

  
Bernadetta runs off with an slight limp in one leg, disappearing from view before Raphael can even think of what to say next.

  
Left unattended, Raphael looks about the room. There is a spool of bandages on the bedside table, matching the ones wrapped around his abdomen. He picks up the glass of water and drains it. Raphael then realizes he is absolutely starving. It feels as if he has not eaten in days. There is one last item on the bedside table. It looks like a face towel. It reminds him of the handkerchief Hilda brandishes after a particularly tough training session. He plucks it from the table, curious. Flowers are expertly and beautifully embroidered on the simple cloth.

  
"Raphael!" Ignatz crosses the infirmary floor quickly, wrapping him into a tight hug. 

  
"Hey, Ignatz!"

  
"Goddess above, you're alive!" Ignatz puts both of his hands on Raphael's shoulders, looking him square in the face. His brown eyes brim with tears.

  
Raphael feels like he has been punched in the gut. "Alive? Of course, I'm alive! Why wouldn't I be?"

  
Ignatz's eyes widen. "You..." He seems at a loss for words. "You were in really bad shape, Raphael." His voice is quiet, careful. It sounds like Ignatz is walking on eggshells; this is the way he used to talk right after Raphael's parents died. 

  
"It was just a scratch, Ignatz," Raphael protests.

  
Ignatz shakes his head. "You fell off a cliff and lost a lot of blood. When they brought you back..."

  
"Hey," Raphael slaps his friend on the back, "we don't have to dwell on that. I'm here now. That's what matters."

  
Ignatz sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. Raphael knows that look; he wants to disagree but is thinking better of it. Finally, Ignatz looks up, attempting a smile. "Glad to have you back, Raphael."

  
"That's the spirit!" Raphael says brightly.

  
Ignatsz sinks into the chair beside him, the one that Bernadetta vacated when he startled her awake. His voice goes low, as if afraid of being overheard. "I saw what you did out there."

  
Raphael raises an eyebrow at him. "What?"

  
Ignatz frowns into his hands. "You took that hit for Bernadetta." There is nothing for Raphael to dispute. They both know it's true. "Why?"

  
Raphael looks surprised his friend is even asking. "Why wouldn't I? They would've cut her down." Raphael's face is uncharacteristically grave. "I couldn't let that happen."

  
Ignatz sighs. "It was reckless."

  
Raphael crosses his arms, although there is a twinge of pain as he does it. "Front-line folks like me are supposed protect people like you and Bernadetta." Out of the corner of his eye, Raphael spies Bernadetta's head peeking in from around the door frame. He grins at her, and she starts. 

  
"Besides, there was nothing for you to worry about. I was in good hands."

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, yes. I am back on my Raph/Bern bullshit. (I love them more each passing day.)
> 
> Tried my hand at dark and angsty, but you know me. Happy ending kind of person, here. 
> 
> As always, comments are appreciated and considerably motivational. <3


End file.
